


Story Time

by hydrangeamaiden



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, I still love davekat even after all this time, I'll post it here for archiving purposes, M/M, this is so old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/pseuds/hydrangeamaiden
Summary: I found this Davekat fic on my tumblr I wrote like, five years ago, so I've decided to post it here for archiving purposes. The original 'publication date' was February 19th, 2013. Wow.





	Story Time

“…And then he gently took his matesprit’s hand in his own and said—“

Karkat lowered his book and saw that Dave had bundled himself up in his cape. His shades were carelessly askew on his face, which wore the expression of one carelessly in slumber. For a moment, everything was so quiet that Karkat could even hear Dave’s steady breathing.

“You’re asleep.” Karkat dropped the book and leaned back on the pile of cushions he and Dave had amassed for Story Time. It was more like Bedtime now, though, with Strider asleep. Karkat stared at the blank grey ceiling for a long time and, for once, completely relaxed. The pillow pile felt too foreign to be comfortable. He was so used to spending nights in restless sleep on that damn horn pile he’d kicked to pieces after he knew there was no reason to keep it intact anymore. It was a real fucking shame, too; you can’t make another pile and expect it to have the same feel. 

Every pile is different. No two piles are the same. Maybe next time Karkat would actually read Dave a bedtime story for wrigglers and see if he’d want to fall asleep in the middle of Story Time. Karkat thought this half-heartedly. He was too exhausted to work up any spite against the Strider.

He felt so exhausted with everything, in fact, that he was beginning to feel it catch up to him physically. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. If he imagined hard enough, he’d still be in the horn pile, which was long gone just like all his quadrants and all of his friends and his old life, and for a moment he thought about how his biggest problem so many sweeps ago was hiding his blood color. Everything he once knew was small and stupid and insignificant now and falling apart just like he was in this goddamn stupid feathery hell on this goddamn stupid meteor.

As he covered his face with his hands and listened to himself cry, he vaguely noted a rustling sound beside him followed by a grunt and then,

“Shit. Vantas, you okay?” came Dave’s sleep-clogged voice. “Karkat?”

Karkat was too busy drowning in his own tears and just sobbed louder. There was more rustling and then a long-sleeved arm pulled a dark red curtain over Karkat’s field of vision and draped itself across his chest. Karkat hiccoughed.

“I th-thought you said I w-wasn’t allowed to touch the cape,” he choked out. God, he sounded so pathetic.

Dave said, “Special exception, bro. Pass go collect 200 boondollars.” With his free hand he folded up his shades and hooked them to the front of his shirt.

“That doesn’t make any—“ Karkat sighed a shaky sigh and leaned his head against Dave’s. The pile felt comfortable now, this felt more natural to him. In fact, he could feel himself drifting off now. They had left the dream bubbles far behind now, in lieu of a quiet dreamless sleep.


End file.
